


Graffiti

by maireeps



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bottom Yamaguchi Tadashi, Club AU, Clubbing, Consensual Sex, DJ Tsukki x Raver Yama, Dirty Sex, Drinking, Freckles, Happy Ending, M/M, Ownership Kink (slight), Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Raver AU, Raw Sex, Stranger Sex, Top Tsukishima Kei, thigh worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 20:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maireeps/pseuds/maireeps
Summary: Tsukishima noticed him first because he stuck out like a sore thumb.Even when he’s kidding around and tipsy, those hips move in tandem to whatever Kei spins on the track.--Tsukishima finds himself pining for a certain freckled stranger.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 684
Collections: HQ Feels (Mostly M or E)





	Graffiti

**Author's Note:**

> i've decided to release all the fics i've done of the last few years in an effort to garner some Validation to finish them! (mostly one-shots/pwps and a few chaptered) 
> 
> \+ tw: this is consensual raw sex but please always use a condom with strangers! stay safe! 
> 
> please leave a review/comment and let me know if you are interested in more haikyuu fics (or vld or diff anime fics!)!! thank you <3

Tsukishima noticed him first because he stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a Friday evening in the middle of November, too early in the night for the beats to pick up, when Tsukishima watched him descend the underground club stairs in an ironed button-up and khaki shorts. He was accompanied by a short blonde girl and a tall black haired girl that made the bouncer Yamamoto blush to his roots. He was cute and lingered around the bar looking uncomfortable with all the bright neon lights and pounding music. 

What caught Tsukishima most is that he tapped along to the slow deep pulses of the speakers, even when he was chewing on his bottom lip and squinting to read the bar menu. Tsukishima watched him over the rim of his glasses throughout the night, because he was prominent against the rave gear that the usual crowd wears when they show up and also because he’s the only one in the club who kept on the beat, even just sitting in a booth and bouncing his head. 

The next time he appeared, he was with a larger group. A guy with hair so violently colored orange skipped down the stairs before the group, and Tsukishima figured out that when compared to regular-sized guys, mystery brunet’s a little short. He’s the second shortest beyond the orange kid who looks like he should definitely have his I.D. scanned under ultraviolet light. 

The larger group makes for larger drinks, and Tsukishima watched him take tequila shot after tequila shot until he was shaking out his hair and moving smoothly amongst the wave of the dancers with the blonde girl. She was laughing too much and he had put too much room between them for them to be a couple. Tsukishima didn’t realize he cared until he processed that information, leaning back and pushing his headphones back over both ears. 

Even when he’s kidding around and tipsy, those hips move in tandem to whatever Kei spins on the track. 

It becomes a trend to see him on Friday evenings. The weekly rave night. Tsukishima’s eyes always zone in on his slightly messy hair and grin so wide Kei could almost count his teeth. His group fluctuated in size by week but he’s always there. By his fourth time in the club, he ditched the button-ups for loose t-shirts and pulled his hair up with an elastic. 

He’s almost always dancing by midnight, flushed from drinks and rocking his hips with his arms raised high. Even with effortless swaying and closed eyes to the rhythm, he’s on the beat. Tsukishima finds that he likes Flume remixes and pitched bouncy English pop songs the most during the playlist hours, and when Tsukishima’s fingers scratch out original tracks, he always rolls his body and sings along to the lyrics of his samples. 

The sixth or so visit, Yamamoto the bouncer recognized his face and they chat at the door. When he stepped into the threshold of the club, he was alone. He didn’t look at all uncomfortable and slid to the bar to order something from Kuroo. By eleven, he was hopping and twisting amongst the crowd. A group of girls noticed, and cheer and squeal when he danced with them. He never halfheartedly shuffles or snatches strangers up to grate against, but he still grabs attention by the way he moves. Just a week later he arrived with a low neckline muscle shirt, betraying ink swirling on the gently tanned skin on his side. His hair was in a messy bun, ears glinting with silver piercings. He gets a drink from a stranger at the bar the second he sits down with his friends, and he looked flustered but pleased under their excitement and praise.

Tsukishima didn’t realize he was leaning over his turntable so much to watch the brunet until he almost spilled his own drink all over his laptop. He’s glad that the stage lights are always off, shrouding the open booth in dark against the memorizing projections. It would’ve been embarrassing to be seen fumbling, but he also likes the way the LEDs lining his discs and turntable roll a neon rainbow across the crowd and occasionally lights up that one speckled face. Red is his favorite because it colors those tipsy freckled cheeks in an even more flushed glow. 

By the eighth visit, Tsukishima realized he’s almost always hard when the crowd parts in just a way for him to watch those rich tight thighs and plump ass roll and grind, the lights pulsating in time with the rumble of the bass. He bobs as he flips tracks, sliding from song to song with one headphone cupped against his shoulder to cover his right ear and eyes locked on the bounce of that small ponytail and roll of those wide hips. It continues for a while; Kei watching the club steps for the inevitable entrance and then proceeding to roll through a couple hundred songs, achingly hard for the guy with the tiny waist and thick eyelashes fluttering on those speckled cheeks. 

It had been a couple of solid months of Tsukishima absentmindedly pining for the brunet with the soft tan and even softer looking hair. Like most things he experienced, it hadn't been obvious to anyone but himself. Tonight wasn’t so different. Tsukishima stepped into the underground stairwell in Harajuku, catching Kuroo unlocking the door with his set of keys just before opening. Kuroo said nothing beyond offering to send him a few drinks to smooth out the scowl on his face for the night. 

Eleven rolled around like it usually did. A blur of routine setup, taking requests from the regulars who always showed up too early and then the line to the club was out the door. Kuroo’s sickly sweet cocktails always had him overzealous over his turntable and MIDI board, opting to give in and please the crowd with the kind of live scratching that works a light sheen of sweat over his forehead. 

When the brunet showed up, trailing behind the largest group of friends yet, with a tantalizing low neckline and tight black jeans, Tsukishima had already played a couple of S3RL and Bentobox mixes to hype the crowd. 

Maybe it was the jeans. They hugged everything, making the curve of his ass against the barstool highlighted against the strobing of the lights. Whenever he shifted on the stool, Tsukishima wondered if he could feel the way he was looking at him -  _ staring _ at him. It was unlikely because of the lowlights of the booth but the idea of watching him squirm because he knew Tsukishima was watching was too delicious. 

So maybe it was the jeans, but most likely it was the drinks. Kuroo had sent him two deadly rum and syrup bitters, far enough to knock any heavyweight down a few pegs. Tsukishima was already switching to the playlist, watching how the brunet perked up at the shrill harmony and abandoned a friend at the bar to dance with the blonde girl. 

Fukunaga switched the lights to softer neons, more warm toned and the strobing pre-planned to the playlist’s dips and spikes in beat. The brunet spun his hips, eyes closed and smile wide, with his blonde friend, just over the rim of Tsukishima’s marbled bar glass. 

He finished the rum, swallowed dry, removing the headphones from his shoulders. The booth could be unmanned for a little; his watch blinked up at him in agreement. The song, high and echoing promises of lovers, coaxing his brunet into singing along and sliding deeper into the lull of dancing.   
  
Tsukishima hadn’t waded through the crowd this effortlessly since he had stopped raving and started to focus more on spinning tracks. It was hot and sticky in the club, bodies swaying like waves. He had donned more of a clubbing outfit than his usual hoodie since he knew he would approach the brunet some time or another, but it still rolled sweat down to his wristbands. He shoved his hands in his pockets, skirting the edges of the crowd. 

It seemed to part for him. An added benefit. He caught the blonde girl off guard as he approached. She stuttered in her steps, eyes wide and the brunet, feeling his companion pause, opened his eyes and looked over. 

_ Ah. _ Tsukishima pleasantly noted how he reached around shoulder level, his messy hair sticking to the sides of his face. There was wonder and surprise in his eyes, almond-shaped and brown and fanned with the dark eyelashes Tsukishima could see all the way from the booth. Freckles, like stars, across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and surprisingly full lips. 

He was staring too much, eyes roaming. The brunet didn’t look too uncomfortable, just brimming with fascination. Tsukishima leaned in, cradling his elbow to pull the brunet closer. He ducked down to his ear, holding his gaze with those brown eyes. They reflected with a warm kaleidoscope of neon. 

“What’s your name?” 

The brunet shuddered, a small little gasp up his spine. “Yam - Yamaguchi,” he breathlessly said back, thin fingers curling against Tsukishima’s side, “Tadashi -- ” 

* * *

The mere feet through the hallway to the wildly graffitied single bathroom was nothing. The song crooned on, muffled with the steady thumps of the music as Tsukishima locked the door blindly with one hand, tugging the other through the long locks of Yamaguchi. His lips were warm, swollen from Tsukishima’s insistent biting but returning back just as eagerly. 

“Hng...” Yamaguchi moaned, slinging his arms lazily around Tsukishima’s shoulders and letting him be backed into the far wall. Those thick round thighs were just as yielding as Tsukishima thought, pliant and spreading just like Yamaguchi’s soft lips. He was focusing on how loud and needy Yamaguchi sounded, dragging nails against Tsukishima’s shoulders and sucking on his tongue with fervor. 

Tsukishima pulled away with a wet obscene  _ pop _ , dipping to pull the exposed skin of those slender collarbones between his teeth. Yamaguchi whimpered in his arms, squeezing his biceps and rocking messily to slot their hips together. Tsukishima met him with a particular deep grind that had him hissing in pleasure against Yamaguchi’s flushed skin, listening to the other’s rattling gasp. 

Their hips slotted again, Tsukishima’s aching bulge catching Yamaguchi’s on the up and pressing them flush together, caging Yamaguchi to the wall. Yamaguchi was erratic, but obediently let him take care of the rhythm. Each grind was well placed, deep and full, and Tsukishima’s breath was heavy against the tanned skin he had begun to wreck with dark marks. 

His glasses drooped on the bridge of his nose, and he caught Yamaguchi’s heavy-lidded gaze before snaking around to grope at his ass. Watching Yamaguchi squeak, lips forming a little o, was all it took before Tsukishima was turning him around. Yamaguchi’s palms hit the paint torn graffiti walls, clenching into fists and widening his foot stance to press back into Tsukishima with the smallest of grinds. 

His own breathing was fogging his glasses too much, so he peered over his frames and raised his eyebrow at the upward turn of Yamaguchi’s lips. Yamaguchi snickered, but it turned into a faint gasp when Tsukishima tugged swiftly at his tight jeans and boxers, letting them fall to pool around his ankles. The expansion of Yamaguchi’s freckles flared all the way down his trim waist to sparsely scatter around his ass and thighs. 

“Do you … --” 

“I like them.” Tsukishima answered immediately, trailing his eyes up and down the convex lines littered with specks. Yamaguchi’s startling blush didn’t go unnoticed, nor the twitch of his russet cock. Tsukishima raised both eyebrows.  _ Praise kink.  _

He rolled the flesh of his palms over Yamaguchi’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart and up just to pull back and watch them bounce. A soft whine, muffled by the wall, and Tsukishima rolled forward with a deep grind. Yamaguchi whined louder, bouncing back and grating smoothly onto Tsukishima’s jeans. The dip of his waist, the pushing of his legs backward, perched on the toes of his Converse and grasping at the wall with caved shoulder blades. 

Tsukishima undid his belt, pulling open his fly and jeans down his skinny hips to fit tight against his spread legs. He bit down onto the soft skin near his spine, bowing over Yamaguchi’s body to slot his dick, slick and spotting in his peeking briefs against Yamaguchi’s perfect ass. “Like that, more.” He muttered, and Yamaguchi immediately ground back.    
  
“Ahn -- ah -- m-mmh,” Yamaguchi breathed, tearing at his bottom lip as he rocked back to meet Tsukishima. The single bathroom, with walls etched and written and sprayed on, rattled with the bass and Yamaguchi’s hips mirrored the beat. Tsukishima rewarded him, cupping his ass as he ground back, and squeezed, the soft flesh dipping between his long pale fingers. He hissed a low  _ good boy  _ and Yamaguchi keened, arching on his tiptoes to stick his plump ass out against Tsukishima’s cock.

The view was perfect. Tsukishima rummaged through his back pocket, using the other hand to rack through Yamaguchi’s thick hair and tug his neck back. Two brown eyes peeked up at him, fluttering eyelashes to compare with his pretty red face. 

“I n-never,” Yamaguchi stuttered, eyes widening as Tsukishima pulled out a lube package, “...got your name.” 

He abandoned that soft brown hair, pulling down his briefs enough to roll out his cock. Yamaguchi watched, transfixed with hooded eyes and back cutely bowed, fingers clutching at the tile wall. He raised the lube pack to Yamaguchi’s mouth, holding it out for him. “Tsukishima Kei.” 

Yamaguchi nodded, tearing the package with his teeth and softly gasping as Tsukishima poured the lube down his spread ass. He stretched upward on his tiptoes more, leaning forward to the bathroom wall and moaning as Tsukishima rolled his cock up his ass, coating himself and pressing against his pink puckered hole. 

He pressed his thumb to the side of the hole, staring down through his fogged glasses as he spread the puckered flesh and dipped his fingertip just around the rim. The shudder through Yamaguchi’s body was immediate, “O-oh god, please…” 

Tsukishima pushed in, rolling his finger. This shudder was accompanied by the bounce of Yamaguchi’s hips, pushing back and clasping a hand to his mouth as he groaned loudly and fucked himself back on Tsukishima's thumb. He retracted it, replaced it with his pointer and middle and spreading Yamaguchi’s heat wide. 

“Tsuk-kki, ah,” He crooned, the nickname making the tips of Tsukishima’s ears burn, “ _ more _ .” 

Finding a rhythm in the muted beat of the song, Tsukishima pushed deeper and spread him more, curling his fingers to rub heated deep circles. When he found the bundle of nerves, Yamaguchi twitched, legs scrabbling up on the very tiptoes of his sneakers and tipping precariously to lean against the bathroom wall. His moans were unabashed, gasping and begging. 

When Tsukishima flicked and pushed pressure against the bundle, Yamaguchi sobbed, tipping his head forward, “Oh  _ god _ .” 

Tsukishima ached, head swimming with how loud his brunet begged, rubbing his cock against the curve of his bouncy ass as Yamaguchi rocked back for more. He groaned when Yamaguchi rolled particularly deep, clamping his hands down on the front of Yamaguchi’s thigh to push them flush dick to ass. 

“Can I --?”    
  
“Yes, yes, yes,” Yamaguchi scrambled back, propped up and nearly wiggling his ass at Tsukishima, “T-Tsukki --” 

In hindsight, his desperation may have been a rough thing. But it was that desperation that had Yamaguchi’s perfect freckled ass spread wide in front of him. He caught on the rim a little, before sinking perfectly into Yamaguchi, hot wet warm Yamaguchi who nearly lost his voice and spread his legs so perfectly. 

His hips were on overdrive, pushing flush and rolling in deep grinds to find the perfect angle. Yamaguchi’s back was so caved Tsukishima nearly bent over him, clutching tight to his wide hips and rolling them in tandem to the bass. Like every time Yamaguchi did on the dance floor and he had watched. 

Yamaguchi whimpered, trembling as he ground into familiar nerves. Ah. He readjusted his grip, pushed Yamaguchi’s legs just a little further apart before pulling out and fucking deep into that angle. 

It was good, so good. The pace was excruciating, Yamaguchi bouncing back on him with wild moans, shirt and hair fluttering. Every deep snap had Tsukishima’s glasses dip low on the bridge of his nose, eyebrows knit together. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of Yamaguchi’s hips as the rhythm quickened. He was desperate, frantic, letting the pinprick dots of freckles blur in his eyes, watching Yamaguchi roll in waves back on his dick. 

The tense muscles in Yamaguchi’s back tightened, ass stalling as Tsukishima pounded deep with an added roll at that perfect angle and thighs weakening. “Ts-Tsukki I’m gonna cum --” He whined, knees almost giving way before Tsukishima caught him around the waist and pulled him up.    
  
A few more thrusts and Yamaguchi, with a honey-sweet moan, fingers clawing at the graffiti on the tile, came, dripping on the ground. He clenched, tight and pulsing, making Tsukishima grunt and hang his forehead as his thrusts turned shallow and weak. Ripples rocked up his abdomen and just before, he pulled out and spilled thickly over Yamaguchi’s flushed ass. 

“Ah.” He muttered, watching his cum drip obscenely down tan thighs. Yamaguchi was breathing hard, clutching onto the hands Tsukishima wrapped around his waist for support. He was trembling slightly, and the back of his hair clung to his neck. 

Aftercare was maybe a bit of an enigma to Tsukishima. Watching Yamaguchi, who danced perfectly to all of his mixes, weak and thoroughly fucked out,  _ by him _ , well he was thinking maybe a bit more possessive and protective than was common for him. 

He backed up from the wall and let Yamaguchi down gently on the sink counter. Yamaguchi leaned back, resting against the mirror and watching with hooded eyes as he tucked himself back into his briefs and jeans. His watch angrily beeped at him. 

Yamaguchi looked mussed, flushed from his cheeks to his exposed collarbone with wild flyaway hair. Tsukishima pulled out a sharpie from his back pocket - the one his manager gave him after he got yelled at for not signing autographs - and pulled Yamaguchi’s inner thigh out. 

Tsukishima Kei.   
xxx-xxxxx

His thigh was soft, and the black looked dark against tan skin. He didn’t know what he liked better, the cream of his cum or his written name on Yamaguchi’s skin. 

He jerked his head back to the door, glancing at Yamaguchi to gauge a reaction. He seemed to examine the writing, then glanced up and gave him a small smile.    
  
Tsukishima turned to the door, took a couple steps before glancing back. “I’m off in an hour and a half.”    
  
The small smile turned far brighter and far wider. “Okay Tsukki.” 


End file.
